


Costa and Cats

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Animals, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Developing Relationship, M/M, Secret Admirer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21769960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: Mycroft gets more than he bargained for while dropping supplies off at the animal shelter
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 47
Kudos: 236
Collections: Festive Johnlock Collection, JustMystradeThoughts Plot Bunny Adoptions, Mystrade Holiday 2019





	Costa and Cats

Mycroft brought in his mail and shook his head. Amongst the usual random mail was a gift card for Costa. Another gift card. He’d been getting one a week for the last month. Few people knew that he liked to indulge after stressful days, and fewer still had the means to access his mailbox. And yet, here it was, like clockwork, after a long Monday.

He shook his head and pocketed the card, sorting the mail and throwing out the junk. At least this week was Christmas, which generally meant the world would behave itself for a few days. And he had his own ritual, something he did every year. He wasn’t a man who spent time with his family unless he had to, but there were certain creatures always grateful for a bit of attention.

Collecting the bag he had ready by the door he headed out to his waiting car, having his driver stop by Costa on the way. It really was maddening that he couldn’t figure out the gifter, but security showed no one but his postman at his mailbox, which probably meant that the person was somewhere on his route. That could be quite a few people in a city as big as London.

On a whim, he picked up an extra drink from Costa. Surely whoever was working tonight would appreciate a bit of caffeine. Without much thought he ordered it the way Lestrade liked it, perhaps in a fit of wishful thinking. Though the man was divorced now they’d only ever dealt with one another professionally or in the context of Sherlock.

The driver pulled up to the side entrance of one of London’s smaller animal shelters. Mycroft shouldered his bag and bid the man goodnight. Westings had his own family to go home to and Mycroft could find his own way home.

He punched in the security code and let himself in. The staff here knew him. He’d been doing this long enough and since he preferred to come late at night it was easier to just give him the code.

“Hello?” called Mycroft, stepping into the shelter. A few barks could be heard and the clang of door closing.

He put the coffee down on the counter and started towards the back, only to hear an all too familiar voice call out. “Be just a minute.” 

Mycroft blinked a few times. Surely the universe was playing a trick on him. Then Lestrade stepped out of the back, holding an impossibly tiny dog in the crook of his arm. He broke into a grin at the sight of Mycroft. “Well, good evening. You’re the mysterious benefactor I was told to expect.”

“Erm, yes,” said Mycroft, offering the bag.

“Come on back,” said Lestrade. “Oh, is that coffee?”

“Tasted that way to me,” said Mycroft, nuding over the extra cup.

Lestrade picked it up and led him into the back, chuckling. “I know you’re wondering what I’m doing here as much as I’m wondering about you. Volunteer sometimes. Gets me out of the house.”

“The holidays can be difficult,” admitted Mycroft. He reached over and pet the tiny dog.

“Here, want to hold her? This is Lucy.” Lestrade handed over the dog and took the bag.

Mycroft looked down at the tiny thing. “Well hello, Lucy,” he said properly.

Lestrade chuckled. “She’s a bit cold, so I was carrying her around.”

Against perhaps his better judgement, Mycroft cuddled Lucy against his chest. She snuggled into his jumper. “I’m sure she’ll have no problem finding a home,” he said.

“The young ones usually don’t. And she’s pretty lovey. I think they’ve got a family coming to see her tomorrow, actually.”

“It can get more difficult to find someone with age,” muttered Mycroft.

Lestrade glanced at him and took a sip of his coffee. He blinked and looked at it. “You got it the way I like it.”

“Ah, yes, well, I assumed whoever was here tonight would like some coffee.”

Lestrade glanced at him. “Wouldn’t have thought you were a Costa sort of person.”

Mycroft blushed a bit. “We all have our indulgences, Lestrade.”

“Greg. You’ve known me damn near a decade.” Greg took put down the bag and started pulling out the treats and toys.

Mycroft looked at him. Something about the way he said that… “Shall I put Lucy back?” he asked.

“Probably best before she gets totally spoiled.” Greg seemed intent on what he was doing.

“I’ll go see the cats afterwards,” said Mycroft, walking over and putting Lucy back in her kennel. Some things weren’t quite adding up. 

He went to the cat room, brushing dog hair from his jumper. Quite a few of the cats were asleep, but one of them watched him, a fluffy, older, gray cat. Chaucer, going by the card. Mycroft opened the door to let him out.

Chaucer sniffed his hand. Mycroft sat down on the floor and Chaucer came over, curling up in his lap and purring loudly. Mycroft blinked a few times and pet him gently, pulling up his information on the shelter’s website.

Thus far he’d managed to avoid bringing anyone home, but Chaucer was pushing those boundaries. According to the website he was independent and not much of a people person and yet here he was, likely shedding all over his trousers.

Greg found him there a short time later. He smiled warmly at the sight. “Looks like you made a friend.”

“It seems so,” sighed Mycroft, rubbing Chaucer’s chin. He bit his lip as he looked up at Greg. “Perhaps two?”

Greg smiled wider. “Seems like you might have a penchant for gray haired older gents.”

“More than I’d like to admit,” said Mycroft, looking back down at the cat. He hesitated, then took a leap of faith. “How did you know I like Costa?”

Greg chuckled. “Put that together did you? You threw out a cup as I came in for our meeting last month.” He came over and sat next to Mycroft. “I got your address off Sherlock a while ago. Then it was just a matter of figuring out your postman.”

“Quite clever of you,” said Mycroft. “Did you know I was coming tonight?”

Greg shook his head. “No, that was it’s own Christmas miracle.”

Mycroft pet the cat a moment longer. “Seems perhaps the universe is trying to tell me something.”

“That you need more gray haired gents in your life?” said Greg hopefully, but with just a hint of teasing.

“Indeed, Greg.” Mycroft looked up at him.

Greg reached over and covered his hand with his own. “I’m working the overnight shift here, but I make a mean breakfast.”

“You already have my address,” said Mycroft. “And I can provide the Costa. What time are you off?”

“I’ll be done at six.”

“Well, I have nowhere to be tomorrow, and I already dismissed my driver for the night. Shall I stay here and you can drive me home in the morning?”

“A bit irregular, but I suspect the bosses won’t mind. Especially not if we get the paperwork sorted for Chaucer here.”

“I’m afraid he’s got me trapped at the moment. Why don’t you go get the paperwork, I’ll fill it out, and we can all go home in the morning.”

“Sounds like a fantastic Christmas to me,” said Greg, getting to his feet. “Long as you don’t mind helping me with the animals.”

“I can be convinced,” said Mycroft. “Soon as Chaucer allows me.”

Greg chuckled. “I’ll get that paperwork.”

Mycroft watched him go. This wasn’t at all what he’d expected, but who was he to argue with a little Christmas magic?

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to the Mystrade crew for encouraging me on twitter. You can find me there at merindab


End file.
